


This Means Threesomes

by drunktuesdays



Category: This Means War (2012)
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunktuesdays/pseuds/drunktuesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbetaed threesome porn.  No promises of quality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Means Threesomes

The SUV was coming at them like a charging bull, and Lauren couldn’t think, couldn’t process. It was like she was stuck in place. She felt rather than saw Tuck and FDR roll to opposite sides of the road like Heinrich couldn’t just _aim_ for them over there, too. There had to be another way, had to be a solution to keep this fucking Chevy Tahoe from--and that was it. 

“Gun,” she screamed at Tuck. “Give me your gun!” Tuck’s face was uncomprehending, he was still gesturing for her to come with him, to move out of way. She gave up, and motioned to FDR, who gratifyingly, tossed her his gun.

She shot out the headlights, and the Tahoe exploded, exactly as it had done in tests, exactly as she knew it would. She braced, counting one, two, three spins, and dropped back exactly five feet and crouched as low to the ground as she could. 

The SUV hit the ground in front of her, and arced back into the air, rolling smoothly over her and off the cliff. She had a moment of warm feeling for the awesomeness of science before the roar of reality rushed back into her ears, and she was simultaneously tackled by FDR and Tuck. They stayed like that, huddled in shock and making totally garbled noises that seemed to basically add up to _that was absolutely insane._

The cops eventually arrived, and interrogated the three of them separately. Lauren had thought she was exhausted by that round of explanations until she met Ms. Collins, Tuck and FDR’s boss. That felt like it went on for another three years before Ms. Collins leaned forward and offered her a job evaluating equipment for the CIA. 

The boys didn’t seem surprised when she finally stumbled free. “Collins loves badass chicks,” FDR assured her. 

“Work just got a whole lot more interesting,” Tuck added and they each took an arm, and shepherded her to the waiting Trish, who had gotten her husband to pick them up.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to bring you home?” FDR said, holding the car door open. “Or, uh, just Tuck can--”

“Can we all just not deal with that, right now?” Lauren said, feeling absolutely drained. She kissed both of them, and then got in the car, went home and slept for fourteen hours.. 

In the morning, and every morning after that, she just...didn’t choose. Working for the CIA turned out to be _really time consuming_ , who would have guessed. She didn’t worry about favoritism, or equal time sharing, but she made plans with one or both of them when she wanted to, and got drunk with Trish when she didn’t want to.

It was working pretty well. Until she found an unlabeled DVD in FDR’s laptop and when she clicked play, she saw her and Tuck from a week ago, going at it on his kitchen counter.  


*

“You’re still _spying_?” She raged at him the moment he walked in the door. “You said you were _fine_ with it!”

“I am!” FDR yelled, getting right back into her space. “I didn’t say I didn’t _care_. I’m cool, I’m not fucking Anais Nin about it.” 

“You’re a nerd,” she said, and pulled him down to kiss her. 

Later that night in bed, she brought it up again. “Are you worried that it’s somehow _better_ with him?”

“No,” FDR said in a voice that said he’d much rather be stabbed with hot coals than continue this conversation. 

She rolled on to her side to face him. “Tell me.”

He groaned. “Lauren, come on. I don’t know, when I know you’re over there, I just want to know, want to see how it is, I guess. I can’t help myself.”

She settled down on to her back again. “It just seems like a waste, to have you jerking off over here, and if you’re doing it, he’s probably doing it too. It’d be a much more efficient use of everyone's time to jerk off together.”

There was a pause, and then he was on top of her, straddling her hips, leaning down to stare into her eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. Say you were kidding.”

“I’m not,” she said, reaching up to touch his hair. “Imagine it, you just like this, just like--” and she rolled her hips up to meet him, hard like she knew he’d be, “this, and Tuck right there, right with us watching.” FDR kissed her frantically, pressing her farther into the sheets as he ground against her. “Or maybe,” she said, “maybe it’s the watching you like. Maybe you’re sitting in the corner chair, watching me ride him.” She rolled them over and shoved his pants down for emphasis. “It’s better in person,” she said, and slid down onto him. “You can hear the little noises he makes when he comes.”

FDR looked dazed, like he had been hit by a mack truck, and she loved it. She felt powerful, like the last few weeks had built her confidence to this place where she could just _use_ it, and she felt like the woman Trish wanted to live vicariously through, like she was a sex _goddess_ and she kept talking, telling FDR what Tuck was like in bed while she fucked him. When he finally lost it and came, she thought he was going to pass out, and it was so hot that it sent her over the edge into the best orgasm she had ever had. 

*

Now that she had a goal, she had to have a plan. Tuck, obviously, was going to be a harder sell. He was still so sweet in bed, easy to make flush, easy to surprise with pleasure. It was going to be a subtler mission, she decided, and allowed FDR to leave a hickey. Not anywhere conspicuous, but on her breast, where only Tuck would find it. She knew the moment he saw it, because he tensed for a second, and then obviously forced himself to relax. He kissed her nipple, and sucked it in between his teeth, and she arched into it, fingers tightening in his hair. Cautiously, like he was allowing her the reaction time to make him back off, he moved his mouth to the spot where the hickey was, and traced it with his tongue. She petted his head reassuringly, and he fit his mouth over the edge of it, shaping exactly where FDR’s mouth had been, and then traced the mark with his tongue. 

“He knew you would notice,” she whispered, and held him tight to keep him from backing off. “He said it was a hello,” 

Tuck didn’t say anything, but dropped down past her belly button, surprising her into arching up into his mouth. The atmosphere of lazy unhurried morning exploration changed dramatically and she curled her nails into his scalp and said, “the amount you two think about each other in bed should offend me, but somehow it just makes me hotter.” 

He grinned up at her, lips shiny and face flushed, and she motioned for him to get back to business.

*

FDR, who was just as eager as her for the plan to succeed, made plans with Tuck to go play paintball, and only mentioned at the last minute that Lauren was coming with. She tried out her new shooting skills, gained from hours at the CIA range, and within fifteen minutes of their arrival, three entire boy scout troops had been neutralized, allowed a rematch, and neutralized again. Tuck was laughing and positively thrumming with adrenaline, and FDR hustled them into the car and sped off. Lauren was in the backseat with him, and she pulled him into a kiss, hand curled around his jaw. He froze, and she flicked her eyes over to FDR in the driver’s seat, who was adjusting the rear-view mirror to see them, and gave her a wink. She slid her hand up Tuck’s t-shirt, and thumbed a nipple, which made him gasp against her mouth. Softly, tentatively, he kissed her back and she responded, drawing him in more and more until it was a shock with the car slammed to a halt outside FDR’s apartment and he was opening the door, hissing for them to get the hell in. 

Tuck looked like he wanted to let it get awkward, once they had gotten to the living room, tracing his toe in the carpet but Lauren maneuvered right back in his space, pulling his face back down to hers. FDR moved behind her, and she felt his hands slide under her shirt and unhook her bra. She curved around Tuck to let it fall away, and then FDR’s hands were on her, cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples in the way he knew always got her. She was unbuckling Tuck’s belt and pulling it off, off off, when Tuck drew away to say hoarsely “bedroom,” and FDR herded them like he was afraid they were going to change their minds. 

When they made it to FDR’s ridiculously large bed, there was a few silent moments of frantic stripping, and Lauren had to laugh as she wiggled out of her panties. Tuck stopped hopping out of one leg of his jeans to frown at her, and she had to push him back onto the mattress, and sink to her knees. She took him into her mouth, and FDR was right there with them, watching with those eyes that looked even bluer than normal. She took him in hand too, and when she looked up again, FDR and Tuck were kissing kind of awkwardly, and she had to laugh again and switched, sliding her lips around FDR. He gasped, and pulled her up, rearranging their positions on the bed to have her lying with her head against Tuck’s chest and him kneeling between her legs. 

“Do that,” he said, “and this night will be over much sooner than we planned.”

“Oh you planned this, did you?” Tuck said, and he kissed her as FDR spread her open, sliding two fingers in nice and easy. “Revenge will be swift.”

“Promises, promises,” FDR said, and bent to his task. 

Lauren was proud to say that a good percentage of her plans have a high success rate, and she is not disappointed by this one. She was closing in on painfully sensitive, as she comes apart again, kneeling astride Tuck. FDR’s hands were gentle as he pulled her down next to Tuck, who was still panting and hard, and she collapsed, watching FDR’s face as he took Tuck into his mouth and ruthlessly finished him, holding his hips down as Tuck tried to call a warning before he came. 

“You were right,” FDR said, coming up to kiss her. She could taste both of them on his lips, and smiled. “I did like his little orgasm noises.”

Tuck made a outraged grunt that wasn’t backed up by any movement, least of all him opening his eyes. FDR settled on the other side of her, and blissed out, Lauren mumbled “At least we can get all the cameras out of my house now.”

There was a guilty silence, and then Tuck said, “Are you quite sure?”

And you know what? She really wasn’t. 

“Do you think it’d be a six-way if we did it while watching us do it?” FDR said and two hands came down to clamp over his mouth. He subsided instantly, in a way that definitely didn’t make her want to start another plan. 

Definitely didn’t.


End file.
